


Just Like Annie

by Wallwalker



Category: Changeling: The Lost, New World of Darkness, White Wolf
Genre: Anger, Animal Abuse, Animal Attack, Backstory, Childhood, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-13
Updated: 2011-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-19 09:06:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wallwalker/pseuds/Wallwalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes he feels just like one of those dogs, trained to fight and be mean all the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Like Annie

**Author's Note:**

> Changeling: The Lost character backstory.  
> Elaboration on the tags: Contains references to animal abuse, specifically dogfighting, and what can happen if a dog that was trained to fight other dogs is provoked, even in ignorance.   
> May be triggering for some.

My old aunt and uncle took care of an awful lot of dogs on their farm. Now most of 'em were real friendly and cheerful dogs, an' Uncle Roy told me and my cousin Terrence to be real nice and help 'em learn how to behave. He taught us to help train 'em and take care of 'em right, so that he wouldn't have to take care of all of it by his lonesome, 'cuz Aunt Billie wasn't too good with the dogs and took care of the other animals instead.

We loved a whole lot of those dogs. Like Maxwell, a bulldog that my uncle saved when he was just a pup - he was a real big dog, real ugly, with a face that looked like it had gotten smashed in a couple times. He was my favorite, though - he was real smart, took to training like ducks take to water, and he wasn't mean at all. Me and Terrence, we taught him all kinds of tricks. He was my best friend for a real long time.

But some of those dogs, they weren't so sweet or nice. My uncle told me and Terrence that we could never ever play with those dogs, the ones he kept all penned up away from the others and only went out to feed 'em once a day. Aunt Billie, now, she got into really big fights over those dogs with Uncle Roy. She didn't like 'em at all, told 'im he ought not to be keepin' those dogs on his farm, not with other animals around and especially not with kids runnin' around. I heard 'em fightin' sometimes, and it always went the same way, and it lasted for hours sometimes because they could never agree. Aunt Billie would tell Uncle Roy that they weren't safe, they weren't safe at all and keepin' em would do no good for nobody. And Uncle Roy would yell back at her that those poor dogs didn't have nobody to take care of 'em and that it wasn't their fault they were like they were, and if he didn't do something they'd be put down. And Aunt Billie would yell that that was just fine, that maybe they oughta be put down, cuz even though it wasn't their fault that didn't change that they were real mean dogs and not safe to be raisin' up alongside children, no way.

But we didn't get it, first time Uncle Roy told us not to mess with those dogs. We didn't understand why dogs would be mean like that to people who were tryin' to be nice to 'em. Me and Terrence, we'd always tried to treat all of Uncle Roy's animals right, and they'd always treated us nice in return. So when Terrence tol' me that maybe we oughta try to say hello to those dogs and maybe make friends with 'em, show 'em that people weren't so bad, I said that would be just fine with me, cuz Terrence was smarter than me and I figured he knew what he was sayin', just like he always did.

So one day, when Uncle Roy was busy on the farm and Aunt Billie was workin' in the kitchen, me and Terrence went out back to where the real mean dogs were kept in their big pens. And I said to Terrence, which one do you think we oughta play with, cuz I figured he had a plan. And Terrence, he looked around at the dogs, who'd already noticed us there and had started barkin' at us, and then he nodded and said, we're gonna play with Annie. Annie was the newest of the big dogs, the one that I think Aunt Billie was most scared of, real big and real scary lookin'. But I figured, you know, Terrence wouldn't lead me wrong, and so I said that was okay and that I'd go with him, no problem.

Annie was already ragin' at us when we got close enough to get a good look at her. She was a real mean lookin' pit bull, wiht one eye white as a glass of milk and great big drool covered teeth. I got kinda scared lookin' at her and wanted to turn around, cuz I didn't know if I could deal with a dog like that. But Terrence said no, we'd be just fine. He started laughing, even.

I was still scared, though, so I kinda hung back while Terrence reached out for Annie. And Annie started bitin' at him, snarling like a real bitch, and I started tugging at Terrence's shirt and sayin' come on, let's go. But Terrence said she didn't scare him, and he started jumping like he was gonna climb into the pen and give Annie a hug, the way we'd always given Maxwell hugs.

And then the pen broke apart. I'll never forget how scared I was when I heard that crackin' sound, and then when I saw the look on Terrence's face. And that bitch, she just leaped for him, started growlin' with him as he fell back on th' ground. He wasn't yellin', he was too scared to yell, but I could see his mouth movin' over and over, and I could see what he was sayin - _help me, Jeremy,_ he was sayin'. And I shoulda done somethin', got a stick and tried to beat her so she'd leave him be, but I couldn't do anything. I was so scared, I couldn't even move.

And I heard a shotgun blast. I knew what one sounded like - I heard 'em all the time in the woods near the farm, when Uncle Roy told us not to go out without our bright orange caps. But I'd never heard one so close before, and it scared me and Terrence and Annie half to death, and Annie leaped away and ran back into the pen, barkin' at the sound. And then I heard Aunt Billie yellin' at us to get back to the house, she'd take care of that mad dog, get back in the house and don't stop runnin' til the door was locked behind us.

I don't think we'd ever ran so fast in our whole lives. I heard the gun a few more times, but I didn't pay it no mind. I just kept movin', like Aunt Billie said.

We both got sent to bed without any supper for disobeyin' our uncle. But he came an' called us both to the livin' room to talk before we went to bed, and he was shakin' a little when he asked us if we were okay. Said that he and Aunt Billie had already taken care of that mean dog, that we'd never have to worry about her again. And I said that I was okay, but I tol' him I didn't understand. Why was she so mean when we were tryin' to be nice to her? Asked him that over and over again, while Terrence just sat in the Lay-Z-Boy and whimpered a little.

It ain't their fault, he told us then, and I'll never forget how pitiful he looked as he said it. It just ain't. If someone else had owned Annie, he said, she would've been a real good dog. She'd probably be real friendly an sweet, like Max or any of the other dogs on the farm. But the people who'd owned Annie, who should've loved her and trained her and taken care of her... they'd turned her into some kinda monster. They'd made her into a weapon, a really dangerous one, cuz she wasn't like most dogs. She liked to fight. She really wanted to hurt other dogs, and other people too, and that was why he'd always told us to leave dogs like her alone. It ain't their fault, he'd said again, and I'd heard his voice still shake, but it didn't sound sad anymore, more like an angry sound. Dogs don't usually wanna fight - they all know how to do it if they have to, but they don't wanna do it unless someone hurts 'em. But people who treated 'em like those bastards had treated Annie made 'em get a taste for it, so that they could watch 'em fight and place bets and have a good ol' time watchin' the blood flow. And once they get a taste for it, it's over. You can try to save 'em, he'd said, but sooner or later it's over, 'cuz they can't stop themselves from lovin' it.

I've been thinkin' about that a lot lately... I can't help it. I didn't get it back then, cuz I didn't understand how somethin' like that could possibly be. But I think I get it now, and it scares th' hell outta me, cuz I ain't any better than Annie now.

My friends tell me I'm worryin' too much. They say it ain't that bad, I still got my mind and most of my soul and I'm not crazy like an animal yet. But when it comes right down to it, when that sonofabitch took me to Crazyland he made me real mean. Made me mad all the goddamned time, so I'd wanna fight, wanna do real bad things so everyone there could watch me do 'em and laugh and talk about how great it was to watch people get hurt. I'm always mad now, or else I'm fightin' real hard not to be, cuz I don't wanna be that way an' I don't wanna hurt people.

It's real hard, though. I'm always mad, or I'm about to be mad, and every time I get mad I hurt somebody. Like that guy who cut me an' Ford off on the back streets, when I was on my bike... he didn't mean ta do it, he was just a kid, but I swear that if Ford hadn't been there to calm me down I woulda punched the poor kid out, and I woulda liked it.

That's what scares me most, ya know? Not that I woulda hurt him but that I woulda liked hurtin' him. I wanna say it ain't my fault, like it wasn't Annie's fault, cuz I didn't wanna be this way. But part of me wants to be this way. Parta me wants to go back to Crazyland where I beat people up and won all kinds of fights and made everyone afraid of me, 'cuz I was winnin', I was stronger than everyone else, and damn it all it felt good. It felt really good and it still feels good and I still wanna do it again, but if I act that way I'm gonna end up just like Annie, and someone's gonna have to put me down.

That's why I gotta be careful. Real careful. I wanna fight but I can't fight like I did back in Crazyland, not 'less I have to. And even then I'm scared. People ask me why I don't fight when I can, cuz' I'm so good at it. They don't understand what it's like, though, and I don't know how to tell 'em if they didn't go through it. They don't know what it's like bein' a devil and struttin' into the ring every time hopin' to hell that I was gonna get th' chance to kill someone, just to prove how strong I was.

They don't get that. And I can't explain it to 'em, not like they'll understand. They'd have to feel it to get it.

At the end of it, I remember askin' Uncle Roy why he'd kept dogs like Annie. And he'd said he wasn't gonna do it no more, that Billie had been right and he was gonna get rid of 'em all. And that was all right by me, but I didn't stop, 'cuz that wasn't why I'd been askin'. I asked him again, why'd he keep Annie when he'd known how messed up she was? And he sighed, and shook his head, and he looked sad again as he said he'd done it 'cuz he'd thought he could help her. He'd thought he could make her less mean again, if he could just give her a real home. Maybe he'd been wrong, or maybe he'd been right, he didn't know. But if it meant riskin' his son's life, or his nephew's, then he wasn't gonna do it no more. He was sorry, he kept sayin'. Real sorry.

I guess the people here who're helpin' us in Vegas are kinda like Uncle Roy, except maybe they understand a bit better. Maybe they'd be able to help us out and not have to give up. I hope so, 'cuz I don't like bein' a monster. I'm like Annie, I figure, but I figure that if I have enough friends, maybe I don't have to be.

Or I just hope I don't. Either way, it ain't gonna happen again. Not if I have anything to say about it, it won't.


End file.
